Just For Tonight
by FieryEclipse
Summary: It's cold outside, the city is empty and huge, and Peter and Sylar just need a little comfort from each other when the rest of the world offers nothing at all... (The Wall, hurt/comfort)


**JUST FOR TONIGHT**

Nothing but silence. The whole city pulses with the absence of sound, of life. Sylar is used to it by now, but currently it aches more than usual. Lying in his bed, unable to sleep and allowing the vastness of empty space to smother him, he feels tiny in the huge open world tonight.

Tonight of all nights is not the best time to be miserable and alone, he thinks bitterly, mentally cursing his floppy-haired, iron-fisted companion. Things haven't been going well with Peter lately, and there still seems to be no sign of the Wall giving way anytime soon. The pair had fought that afternoon – over something much too trivial to deserve the crossing of fists – and parted to their separate apartments before dinner. Sylar hates eating alone, especially when his bruised jaw clicks with every bite, but mostly he hates the memory of the last, lingering look he'd snatched of Peter's devastated face before he'd stormed off. The empath had been more sensitive than usual over the past few weeks, and had been more upset by the fight than angry – which was never a good sign. Sylar knows what it's about though. He'd be an idiot not to: Peter misses his friends, his mother... his brother.

Sylar has said it aloud many times: he's ashamed of himself, remorseful for everything that he's done in his past... yet _still_ Peter doesn't like him. It's agonising. Sometimes having a companion who chooses to neglect you is more lonely than being the only person on a barren planet.

Currently, he stares through the curtain-less window at the gaping streets that should be covered in snow by now but aren't. It's cold outside, the air bitter and harsh against the only two faces there to feel it. But that's all. No wind accompanies the drop in temperature, no frost crystallises on the windows. He sighs. Nothing ever changes here – not the weather, not the Wall, and most regretfully, not even Peter Petrelli.

Then there's a tiny, muffled creak outside Sylar's bedroom door and he freezes. Out of shock more than fear. The only possible intruder is Peter, but as the little man has been so unpredictable lately, it's not too much of a stretch to imagine he's here with the intention to murder Sylar while he slumbers. It's doubtful, but Sylar opts for feigning sleep in order to check out Peter's motives anyway.

Back facing the door, eyes closed, he hears it swing open. Then gentle footsteps scuff inside, lingering at the end of the bed. There's a long, tense silence...

"Sylar?" Peter whispers, voice deep but soft. "Are you awake?" He tiptoes closer, and Sylar gives up the act and rolls over to face him, confused and more than a little curious. Why would Peter wake him if he was going to smother him...?

Uncomfortable under Sylar's intense gaze, Peter squirms a little. "The front door was open, so..." He looks timid, guilty, and gloriously ruffled. By the looks of him he's been tossing and turning for hours, the same as Sylar. His usually sleek hair is tousled and his eyes rimmed with dark circles, yet Sylar can't remember ever thinking the man more attractive than in that moment.

"What do you want?" He snaps, a little too quickly. It comes across as harsh and cold, but it's only because his throat is constricted so. Suddenly a much more favourable idea has sprung to life in his mind as to why Peter might have crept into his bedroom to wake him in the middle of the night... Peter crosses his arms, adorably playing it tough as insecurity visibly rages inside. "S-sorry." Sylar adds, clearing his throat and adopting a more welcoming expression and gentle tone. "What's wrong?"

"I... was just wondering if..." Peter's voice fades and he scratches his nose to stall for time. It looks like he's regretting his decision to visit, but Sylar can't breathe as he waits to hear the rest of the sentence. "...if I could stay over?" Peter takes in Sylar's wide eyes, raised eyebrows and parted lips. "Just for tonight though. Don't read too much into it, I just couldn't sleep... and I don't wanna be alone tonight."

Having walked from his apartment building in just a t-shirt and pyjama bottoms, it seems Peter already knows his offer will be accepted. For a moment embarrassment tickles Sylar – he hates being so predictable. But really, that doesn't matter. What matters is that Peter is even here at all, asking this of him. So, still confused and unsure of how far this is going to go, Sylar sits up in his bed. "Of course." He mumbles, finding his lips numb and blood pounding. He shifts up and holds the duvet open for Peter to get under.

The mattress sinks slightly at the addition of another body, and suddenly Sylar is wracked with uncertainty as to how he should act or if he's supposed to take charge here. But Peter only curls up and turns away from Sylar, nothing more than a comforting heat by his side. It's new and foreign to share his bed with some else, and Sylar's body fights between anxiety and arousal all at once... should he cuddle up behind Peter, snake an arm around his waist and hold him close? His companion came over craving "company", but Sylar doesn't know exactly what "company" Peter had in mind. He doesn't want to ruin this by assuming too much.

But it seems like this is enough for Peter, as all he does is huddle further under the duvet and make himself comfortable. After a silent, agonizing few minutes, icy cold, sock-clad feet seek out Sylar's bare leg and press against it. Okay, so nothing more than this then, Sylar decides. But, surprisingly, he's fine with that – this pure, simple act is so much sweeter than a midnight hook-up that would likely be ignored and regretted by Peter tomorrow. Just sharing the same space, the same body heat, almost means more than anything else would. Sylar has no idea what he did to earn this level of trust from Peter, especially after the fight, but he won't complain. Being wanted as a comforting presence is truly amazing. The world doesn't seem empty at all anymore.

Finally Sylar's arousal fades and his heartbeat slows. It's quite relaxing to just lie side by side like this, with no pressures or behaviours to uphold. He shuffles deeper into the duvet too, just staring in wonder at Peter's lovely mop of messy hair. So he had been wrong before: some things _do_ change...

A quiet, sleepy snuffle comes from Peter's side of the bed. "Merry Christmas Sylar." Sylar leans up on one elbow. On the end table beside Peter he can see the in the dim light that both hands on his clock are pointing up. It's one minute past midnight, making today December 25th.

He smiles at the back of Peter's head, then at the little ball of his body bundled beneath the covers. The mattress creaks slightly as he lays back down, still smiling. "Merry Christmas Peter."

 **A/N** A little Christmas Oneshot for the holidays, hope you enjoyed it x)


End file.
